


guns and roses

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Argument turns to Sex, Damn Hobgoblin, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, They love and despise each other, heated arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: McCoy fights with Spock all the time. This time, it's different.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 12
Kudos: 164





	guns and roses

"You have an extremely biased and narrow-minded view of what the Prime Directive truly means according to the Federation, Doctor." 

Spock is glowering down at him in the way only a Vulcan can. 

He didn't think they were taking cheap-shots tonight until this moment. He'll bite; he always does.

"Frustrated, Spock?"

"I do not–"

"Feel frustration, yeah, Spock. I've heard the lies before, I don't feel like hearing them again." McCoy tries not to get too worked up, looking around for his drink, and spots it on his desk. 

He circles around Spock and the Vulcan's glare follows him, silent but deadly.

Spock had come over ten minutes prior out of curiosity. They had just returned from a tedious, long, away mission. Spock had a question about one of McCoy's decisions down on the planet. Naturally, a simple question had turned into a full blown argument.

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock finally replies. It’s pathetic really. So damn repetitive. McCoy downs his drink and swerves around to face him.

"I'm sick of your damn textbook responses! You ever come up with anything more interesting than the same handful of statements over and over? You're not _that_ interesting, Spock." 

Spock takes one step forward, as if it ups his intimidation in any sense. Spock being taller than him never bothered McCoy much. He has no issue pushing up on his toes, invading Spock’s space the way he knows the Vulcan despises. 

"And shall I point out that you, Doctor, rarely speak without the addition of shouting and expletives." He sounds as peeved as a robot _can_ sound. 

McCoy barks out a humorless laugh, mirroring his step forward. "You got a problem with the way I speak."

"I am merely defending my own diction and selectivity of phrasing. That which you have never attempted to under–"

"So you're admitting you're being defensive!" McCoy points a finger at him, and after the brilliant idea pops into his head, digs it into the middle of his chest. The look of unbridled offense on Spock's face is worth a possible report to Jim later in the week. "Ain't this a field day."

"Might I remind you that 'ain't' is not a word nor is there a field on the ship." Spock nearly bumps into the wall behind him as he’s forcefully prodded backwards, and has the grace to stop just a mere couple inches in front of it. McCoy doesn't bother giving him space. Occasionally, the personal nature of their arguments end up feeling more crowded than the physicality of them. 

Spock saying 'ain't' only just sinks in and McCoy tries not to think of it as cute though a certain part of his brain is screaming the logic of that particular adjective. Logic, _christ_ , Spock's got him thinking the word 'logic.'

"I know you know more Earth colloquialisms than you let on," McCoy insists, staring right up at him from where he stands. He bounces up on his heels to emphasize his point.

"Not enough to appease your own personal dialect which I'm entirely sure the state from which you were born itself is unable to decipher." 

McCoy can't tell if Spock is meaning to hurt him or he is merely giving a factory, argumentative, response. His expression remains, well, unresponsive. As it does most of the time, however, it's pissing him off an extra amount tonight.

"Damn Vulcan," McCoy grumbles, "You think you're hot shit, don't you?"

"I–"

"Don't you dare give me a ridiculously unneeded response for that, Spock. What I mean is, you think you can just stroll into my quarters and ask me about the way I go about my work. In case you haven't noticed I haven't lost any lives in quite a long time and only one of us is the medical expert here. You don't go to Jim's quarters and rank down his stupid decisions, so don't come to mine, and, and…" McCoy's cheeks begin to burn. Rage takes him over easily and he hadn't even realized his voice had been steadily rising until now. He finishes barking out, "Just don't even bother dragging your green-blooded ass over here if all you are going to do is bitch and moan, you, you _Vulcan!_ " 

McCoy staggers back on his heels, and Spock's stare darkens. He tilts down in the most minuscule of ways, just to be slightly more level to him.

"Doctor."

"What the hell do you want?!"

"You should consider upgrading your name-calling technique. I have noticed you have exhausted the use of Vulcan, Pointy-Eared, and Green-Blooded." He nearly growls as he over-articulates the last word. 

McCoy could punch him. McCoy's going to punch him. He grabs a handful of Spock's shirt and something clicks between the small look of shock in Spock's eyes only noticeable to a close enough acquaintance, and when McCoy crashes his lips against Spock's instead.

It's not ideal. It feels pretty damn great for a few seconds, like he's the first man to achieve Warp 100 or something equally impossible. He begins to notice Spock's rigid stance and unresponsiveness. He pulls back apologetically, trying not to overthink what he just did.

"I'm sorry, Spock," Regret instantly spills from him, and a dawning realization of the amount of discomfort this could have caused him, "Sometimes when I get worked up, I don't know the difference between the urge to sock a man and the urge to–"

Spock grabs him by his hips, and spins him around. McCoy's back hits the wall hard and he can barely grunt before Spock's mouth is back on his, open and pliant, and searching. McCoy is more confused than he's ever been, but lucky for him, his big head isn't the head doing most of the thinking. As he feels Spock’s hands exploring without shame, he says “Okay, this works, too,” weakly. He is immediately cut off by nails dragging over his ribcage and Spock’s mouth closing over his own again. 

He moans softly to let Spock know he's entirely willing, more than willing. Spock doesn't seem to care either way. One hand is digging into McCoy's neck, while the other snakes between McCoy's legs, rubbing not so delicately at the bulge in his pants. "Spock," he stutters out, " _christ_."

"Quiet, Doctor." 

He bites his tongue instead of shouting _why?!_

McCoy doesn't think he's ever been this overwhelmed so quickly. When Spock's hand finds its way into his pants, he bucks, gripping at Spock's perfectly combed hair, tugging him closer. Spock's face rests in the crook of his neck and while his hand is doing criminally expert things down below, he's not much of a multitasker.

With a slim amount of trepidation, McCoy mouths against Spock's neck encouragingly, biting lightly as Spock's hand tightens and speeds up on his cock. He's breathing heavily, broken moans cut off by burying his mouth in Spock's neck. He's not sure why he's complying to the Vulcan’s request for silence.

Spock gets the hint and begins sucking and teething under his ear lobe. McCoy does moan then. This activity is not so dissimilar to their arguments. Fighting for dominance, things getting heated. The usual, just with more skin.

McCoy leans up on his toes to lick at the tip of his ear playfully. Spock pulls away for just a moment, hand between them stopping, regrettably. The look on his face is priceless and is worth it overall. He looks utterly wounded as if _ears_ were always off-limits. It takes McCoy an additional moment to recognize the deeper shade of green on his cheeks and nose. By god, he's blushing.

"Hobgoblin," McCoy mutters affectionately. 

One of Spock's eyebrows raises at that. 

McCoy reaches up a hand slowly to curl around Spock's neck and he drags him back in, in one rough movement. McCoy speaks against his lips, "Shut up."

"Doctor, I have not spoken–"

McCoy kisses him hard and he barely has time to realize his button and zipper have been undone. The cold air of the room hits the bare skin of his cock and he shudders, pushing against the warmth of Spock's hand. 

It's embarrassingly quick. Spock pushing him against the wall, shoving a hand into his pants, and now jerking him off like he does it for a living all catches up to him, and he's viciously tugging at the hair at the nape of Spock's neck. He's too worked up to continue kissing him, breathing hard into the Vulcan's shoulder. 

" _Spock_ ," he warns. Spock speeds up somehow, thumb moving over the head of his cock on every upturn. When his senses tunnel, he spends focus on Spock's other hand which digs not so delicately into his hip, and Spock's lips which have relocated to just above his clavicle. It’s then that his pleasure peaks and he jolts in Spock's grasp. 

The aftershocks are intense; Spock practically has to hold him up. 

Spock's hand is slightly covered in his come, and the Vulcan shamelessly lifts his fingers to his lips and licks it all off. Even in his refractory period, McCoy begins to spiral.

He wastes no time the second he regains himself entirely. He pushes Spock to the center of the room and barks out the command, "Down."

Spock stares at him with near bug-eyed confusion. Bones tries to hide his innate approval of Spock's physical state, shirt riding up slightly, hair out of place, green skin head to toe. 

When Spock finally seems to register and understand the demand, he drops to the floor obediently, landing on his knees and rocking back onto his haunches, in the most erotic gesture McCoy has ever witnessed, personally.

McCoy drops down in front of him, crawling halfway over him and undoing Spock's trousers without any preamble. He can't tell what Spock is thinking behind his glossy, unreadable, eyes. However, according to his blush, he can gather that it's nothing all too terrible.

He's seen Spock's penis only a few times until M'Benga had joined the medical crew. He'd taken over Spock's physicals after that. McCoy can't say he blames Spock for preferring him; he knows Vulcans better than McCoy ever will.

He tugs Spock's pants down to his thighs, far enough so he can swallow down the Vulcan's already hard cock and perhaps leave a few friendly bruises on his inner thighs. Spock makes a small noise as he goes at it, only one. He immediately cuts himself off and resorts to controlling his pleasure in the way he controls his pain. The heavy breathing and hip twitching is reward enough for McCoy at the moment. Giving Spock a passionate blowjob almost feels like winning. Winning _what_ , he doesn't know. But, it's definitely better than an argument. 

After about two minutes, not bad for a heat of the moment situation, Spock stutters out a few words of caution, "Doctor, I'm…" 

McCoy glances up once, a smile in his eyes at a debauched Spock who looks guilty for enjoying this in any way. " _Doctor_ ," he warns with a stronger voice..

McCoy's feeling a bit of an ache in his jaw sure, Spock's packing, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to go the full mile. 

Also, he’s unsure he’s ever been more turned on by being called ‘Doctor’ in his entire life

When Spock tugs at his hair gently it only encourages him to dive deeper, suck harder, until he hears a thump which can only be Spock's head against the rug. Spock comes in his mouth and tastes remarkably of fruit. If he'd known he might have spent some time screwing Vulcans on shore leave on occasion.

"Apologies," Spock's voice sounds extremely high, like he's up on a cloud. McCoy grins.

"I don't think you understand I wanted it like that." 

Spock sits up, brushing his own hair back into place, straightening out his shirt.

McCoy licks his lips, catching his breath. They're both on the floor and they both just had sex. _Them_. What the hell would Jim say?

"What did we just do," McCoy muses.

"Sexual copulation of the oral and–"

"Don't finish that," McCoy says with a raised hand and a chuckle. He smirks. "Didn't know you were so commandeering, Mr. Spock." 

Spock blinks. "I could say the same about you, Doctor."

"This won't become a habit will it?" McCoy teases, in every way wishing for this to become a habit. He can see it now, Spock arguing with him on an away mission and McCoy dragging him to some secluded cave or section of some woods, pushing him up against a hard surface, watching him come undone. McCoy nearly disappears into his thoughts. 

There is a long moment of silence before Spock replies with, "Unclear."

"Certainly a good way to win our arguments," McCoy states, swallowing and suddenly feeling a little bit self conscious. He resists the urge to clear his throat. 

"Are you saying you are the one who has won, Doctor?" Spock stares directly into his eyes, unwavering.

McCoy scoffs. "Well, yeah, I have more experience in this department, I'd say."

"Even if there were definitive proof of your alleged experience, this does not hold up against technique." 

They stare at each other with newfound intensity. McCoy is suddenly flaring up with rage again, forgetting all about the sex. 

" _Alleged?!_ Are you fucking kidding me, you conniving little...wait a minute are you criticizing my technique, you, pointed-eared Hobgoblin!"

Spock leans in and kisses him out of nowhere, halting any further complaints. 

McCoy blushes when Spock pulls back. He opens his mouth as if to continue arguing but immediately snaps it shut. Speechless.

"Damn Vulcan. This isn't fair."

"Life, as I'm told by you on various occasions, is rarely fair." 

McCoy smiles despite himself. At least Spock listens to him sometimes. That's all that matters in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> shameless porn before i publish a really big stupidly emotional lovey dovey spones fic. hope it's satisfactory ;)


End file.
